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Authors: Shirley Jackson
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got out of the car, directing the disposition of numerous pieces of luggage. Mrs. Halloran smiled at Aunt Fanny, who seemed to be counting under her breath the severally designated little blue bags and large tan dress cases and hatboxes and jewelcases and overnight bags and dark red heavy cases, and said softly, “Aunt Fanny, how lucky that your father has set an arbitrary end to this visit,” and then, still smiling, rose to greet her friend.
Mrs. Willow was a large and overwhelmingly vocal woman, with a great bosom and an indefinable air of having lost some vital possession down the front of it, for she shook and trembled and regarded herself with such enthusiasm, that it was all the casual observer could do at first to keep from offering to help. Whatever she had lost and was hoping to recover, it was not her good humor, for that was unlosable, and seemed, in fact, as much a matter of complete insensitivity as of good spirits; Mrs. Willow was absolutely determined to be affable, and would not be denied.
“And you have gotten older, Orianna,” she said, entering, “how glad I am! The older we get ourselves the more we like to see it in our friends,” and she smiled amply around the room, as though prepared with only the faintest encouragement to gather them all to her bosom, that repository of lost treasures, and cherish them for having grown older every minute since they were born, “and I can’t say,” she continued happily, “that you’ve done anything to improve the looks of this old place. And I won’t say,” she went on, “that Richard Halloran looks well.” She nodded toward Mr. Halloran, in his wheel chair by the fire.
“This is a house of mourning, ma’am,” Aunt Fanny said.
“And this is Aunt Fanny. My sister-in-law,” Mrs. Halloran said. “I had forgotten what a disturbance you make, Augusta.”
“Don’t I?” said Mrs. Willow. She turned slowly, to regard with individual speculation each person in the room. “Who’s that young man?” she asked, as one going directly to the heart of a problem.
“Essex,” Mrs. Halloran said, and Essex bowed, speechless.
“Miss Ogilvie,” Mrs. Halloran said; Miss Ogilvie fluttered, looked for help to Richard Halloran, and made a weak smile.
“You remember my gels?” Mrs. Willow asked, gesturing. “That one’s Arabella, the pretty one, and the dark one’s Julia. Curtsey to your Aunt Orianna, pets.”
“Do try to call me Mrs. Halloran,” Mrs. Halloran said to the two girls. These, accustomed to the manners of their mother, tended clearly to underestimate the rest of the world; the dark one, who was Julia, nodded gracelessly, said, “Hello,” and turned away. Arabella, who was the pretty one, smiled prettily, her eye falling—as perhaps it had not before—upon Essex, behind Mrs. Halloran’s chair. “How do you do?” she said.
“Well.” Mrs. Willow, having surveyed the room and the people in it, turned back to Mrs. Halloran. “Pretty dull here, are you? You like my gels, Orianna?”
“Not so far,” said Mrs. Halloran. “Of course, it is not impossible that they may improve upon further acquaintance.”
“Richard,” said Mrs. Willow, going to him by the fire, “you remember me? Do you keep well? I can’t say you look fit.”
“My brother is grieving, ma’am,” said Aunt Fanny.
“It’s Augusta, is it not?” Richard Halloran said, looking up. “They think I am unable to remember, Augusta, but I remember you clearly; you wore a red dress and the sun was shining.”
Mrs. Willow laughed hugely. “I’ve come back to cheer you a little, Richard.”
“Do you remember,” Richard Halloran asked, raising his eyes to Mrs. Willow, “when we rang the bells over the carriage house?”
“Do I not,” said Mrs. Willow comfortably. “Ah, you used to be a gay one, Richard. Plenty of pranks in your time, I’ll be bound. But you’re too warm here by the fire; you,” she gestured to Essex, “come and help me move his
Mrs. Willow was a large and overwhelmingly vocal woman, with a great bosom and an indefinable air of having lost some vital possession down the front of it, for she shook and trembled and regarded herself with such enthusiasm, that it was all the casual observer could do at first to keep from offering to help. Whatever she had lost and was hoping to recover, it was not her good humor, for that was unlosable, and seemed, in fact, as much a matter of complete insensitivity as of good spirits; Mrs. Willow was absolutely determined to be affable, and would not be denied.
“And you have gotten older, Orianna,” she said, entering, “how glad I am! The older we get ourselves the more we like to see it in our friends,” and she smiled amply around the room, as though prepared with only the faintest encouragement to gather them all to her bosom, that repository of lost treasures, and cherish them for having grown older every minute since they were born, “and I can’t say,” she continued happily, “that you’ve done anything to improve the looks of this old place. And I won’t say,” she went on, “that Richard Halloran looks well.” She nodded toward Mr. Halloran, in his wheel chair by the fire.
“This is a house of mourning, ma’am,” Aunt Fanny said.
“And this is Aunt Fanny. My sister-in-law,” Mrs. Halloran said. “I had forgotten what a disturbance you make, Augusta.”
“Don’t I?” said Mrs. Willow. She turned slowly, to regard with individual speculation each person in the room. “Who’s that young man?” she asked, as one going directly to the heart of a problem.
“Essex,” Mrs. Halloran said, and Essex bowed, speechless.
“Miss Ogilvie,” Mrs. Halloran said; Miss Ogilvie fluttered, looked for help to Richard Halloran, and made a weak smile.
“You remember my gels?” Mrs. Willow asked, gesturing. “That one’s Arabella, the pretty one, and the dark one’s Julia. Curtsey to your Aunt Orianna, pets.”
“Do try to call me Mrs. Halloran,” Mrs. Halloran said to the two girls. These, accustomed to the manners of their mother, tended clearly to underestimate the rest of the world; the dark one, who was Julia, nodded gracelessly, said, “Hello,” and turned away. Arabella, who was the pretty one, smiled prettily, her eye falling—as perhaps it had not before—upon Essex, behind Mrs. Halloran’s chair. “How do you do?” she said.
“Well.” Mrs. Willow, having surveyed the room and the people in it, turned back to Mrs. Halloran. “Pretty dull here, are you? You like my gels, Orianna?”
“Not so far,” said Mrs. Halloran. “Of course, it is not impossible that they may improve upon further acquaintance.”
“Richard,” said Mrs. Willow, going to him by the fire, “you remember me? Do you keep well? I can’t say you look fit.”
“My brother is grieving, ma’am,” said Aunt Fanny.
“It’s Augusta, is it not?” Richard Halloran said, looking up. “They think I am unable to remember, Augusta, but I remember you clearly; you wore a red dress and the sun was shining.”
Mrs. Willow laughed hugely. “I’ve come back to cheer you a little, Richard.”
“Do you remember,” Richard Halloran asked, raising his eyes to Mrs. Willow, “when we rang the bells over the carriage house?”
“Do I not,” said Mrs. Willow comfortably. “Ah, you used to be a gay one, Richard. Plenty of pranks in your time, I’ll be bound. But you’re too warm here by the fire; you,” she gestured to Essex, “come and help me move his
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